When approached by a drug dealer in the streets of Amsterdam there are certain services you expect him to offer, that being the service of a drug dealer who provides questionable substances such as cocaine, ecstasy and various other things on the police’s no-no list. So I was taken a little by surprise when a drug dealer approached me in the street and offered me Viagra.

There were three things that made this strange. (1) He was offering Viagra. (2) He was offering it while I was in the company of a male friend. (3) He was possibly suggesting that if we were so inclined we did not find each other attractive and needed some help in the bedroom.

The possible attack on my sexuality or my ability to ‘get it up’ aside I wondered what other marital aids he had on offer. “Some aspirin for when she has a headache, sir?” or maybe “How about some candles and some Barry White music to set the mood, sir?”

Did he offer birth control too? “I can see you are a sophisticated gentlemen sir so may I suggest ribbed? For her pleasure, sir.”

How far would his services go? Did he give relationship advice too? “The thing you have to remember sir, is never forget to say ‘I love you’, even for the smallest things.”

Maybe he even did street marital counselling sessions? “Debby, please tell Andrew why you are upset with him and then let’s discuss those feelings.”

When I went to the chemist to collect the medication for my recent stomach bacteria problems (otherwise known as the Epic Bacteria War of twenty-ten) the chemist asked to see my medical insurance card before he would hand over ‘the goods’. Obviously he did not believe in the ‘first one is free’ policy used by most of his fellow drug providers on the streets of Amsterdam or know the subtleties of the hand over handshake they use to hide the transaction from any watching cops. It was at that point that I decided anti-bacteria meds were probably not that addictive or provide much of a buzz. Either way it seemed safe to say that they most likely had a low street value. I quickly checked for cops and attempted to give him my medical insurance card as requested.

I say ‘attempted’ because when I pulled my wallet out of my pocket to do so I also managed to spill a small countries financial aid in coins all over the floor. Coins rolled off in every direction in search of hiding places under shelves, counters and displays. I quickly handed the requested card to the chemist and went on a frantic coin scavenger hunt as I attempted to stop the in progress coin break out with the assistance of other customers pointing out the round little fugitives.

If this had been a street deal this probably would have been the point when the chemist ‘popped a cap in my ass’ for acting too much like a strung out junkie with the shakes.

After all the coins were accounted for I returned to the desk to be faced with an amused looking chemist. There was something in his smile and the long pause that told me he was amused by something else other than the coin fiasco. To add to this he was showing me my own medical insurance card. I looked between he’s ‘do you get it yet’ smile and my medical insurance card several times in puzzlement. Just as I was about to ask if he had been dipping into his own supply I suddenly got it. It was not my medical insurance card he was holding at all. It was my NS rail card. I had handed him the wrong card during all the coin chaos.

I would have been killed again at this point and dumped in a dumpster as a warning to other junkies.

Since neither of us was on a train I quickly handed him the correct card (making very sure it was not my bank card or video rental card first) and collected my medication. Likely for me he was a nice provider of drugs and found the whole thing very amusing (that or he was behaving himself in case I was wearing a wire).

(Thank you everyone who has sent me get well soon messages. I am very grateful and feeling much better.)

It is an epic war that has claimed many. No one can remember how or why the fighting began. All they know now is war, a war like no other. A war between light and dark, right and wrong, good bacteria and bad bacteria… at least that is what the doctor told me.

He might have used the much more medical term ‘stomach bacteria’ to describe my recent tummy troubles but I knew what he really meant. I imagined little bacteria in little World War I planes dog fighting over the stomach acid lakes while below bacteria soldiers clashed on half digested hamburger hill, locked in deadly combat. My mind started to provide the sound affects and voices for all the tiny bacteria like an eight year old playing with his toys while the doctor continued to go into more detail.

“Everything you have described would seem to indicate stomach bacteria.”

“Just to confirm what kind of bacteria we are dealing with. In case we need to adjust the medication.”

What kind? Could he not see that it was clearly the work of the evil 3rd infantry bacterial unit led by the infamous General Grober van Bakterien? There was no time for blood tests. Good bacteria were dying. I was starting to question if this so called doctor had ever been to medical college.

I thought about telling him this for a moment but decided to keep my over active imagination to myself. Especially since he seemed like a man who had easy access to other needles that could be used to sedate ‘the crazy patient’.

It was time to bite the medical bullet. I might not like needles but it had to be done… for the troops. After all, how bad could it be?

The blood test (or as it shall know be known; “The Quest for a Vein”) took several attempts. Neither arm was spared a few pokes.

On the first attempt my right arm only produced a few drops of blood which apparently was not enough despite my belief that any small amount of blood taken from my body is more than enough.

On the second attempt my left arm produced even less blood. As the lady with the needle continued to poke around inside on her search I started to wonder if I actually had any veins.

On the third attempt I started to question if I even had a pulse.

And on the fourth attempt I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief when she finally found the elusive vein and the blood started to flow, confirming that I was actually still alive and did not need to apply for zombie citizenship.

I was sent on my way without so much as a lollypop for being a brave boy. However, I did not leave without a souvenir. I was left with two huge bruises on the inside of both my elbows (where the blood was taken) which makes me look like a victim of domestic violence. This is incredibly unfair to let people think since my girlfriend was comforting me the whole time by letting me use her hand as a squeeze toy in what I can only describe as a death grip. That is why I have been telling everyone I walked into a door.

Ok. Technically I was not writing for one of those four years but this blog is still four years old and I’ve been living in Holland for nine years. I get a lot of fun out of writing this blog and creating the cartoons for it and it makes me very happy to know that people like you enjoy reading it too. Thank you to all of you, old readers and new.

Why not check out the story that started it all. The tale of how I accidentally and unexpectedly ended up living in Holland: An Unexpected Beginning.

Today our young guest writer Alex de Leeuw is back to tell us all about the fun time he had with his cousin and one of his friends as they helped my girlfriend, her brother and myself get our boat ready to be put in the water. As always I have translated for Alex since he is only a young Dutch lion and is still learning English.

Eerst moesten we er voor zorgen dat we het juiste gereedschap hadden. Het is heel belangrijk het goede gereedschap te gebruiken bij het klussen aan een boot. – First we had to make sure we had the right tools. It is very important to have the right tools when working on a boat.